Nailing It Down
by southernbelle08
Summary: Remus likes things definite and rational; "clear-cut" isn't in Tonks's vocabulary. When a mysterious inconsistency leaves Remus scrambling to reason things out, he learns more about life, love, and logic than he ever wished to know. R/T, lots of Sirius
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Greetings, dears. Read my story and then review it. See how that works? Read, then review! I'm pushy; deal with it.  
Anyway, I already have the second chapter written, so you can expect the update soon. Novel, n'est-ce pas? I was planning on writing the whole thing, then updating the chapters at intervals, but alas, I have no such self-mastery.  
Enjoy! (And again, review! Join the Review Revolution! See the profile.)

* * *

Chapitre Un

Remus woke with a start at the squeeze on his knee, realizing he had again dozed off in the middle of an Order meeting.

Looking over to his left he found Nymphadora smirking at him, and he grinned sheepishly at her in thanks. He was grateful that she had caught him snoozing before Moody had. Being wrenched back to consciousness by the crazed man's shout and a ten-minute lecture on constant vigilance was not an ordeal he'd like to relive any time soon.

He turned his attention back to Hestia as she droned on with her report and, with feeble hopes that it might keep him sentient, took a generous gulp of tea. And promptly choked on it.

Nymphadora's hand was still on his knee.

Wide-eyed with confusion, he slowly turned to look at her. She was staring straight ahead, the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort of suppressing a smile. He felt her pat his knee then withdraw her hand.

What on God's good earth did she mean by it?

As she resolutely continued to ignore his gaze, he forced himself with some difficulty to direct his eyes back toward Hestia, though his thoughts couldn't be farther from her report.

His mind was reeling. Was that a joke? Granted, a hand on the knee was nothing earth-shattering, and true, they had become fairly good friends over the last couple of months, but they simply weren't the kind of friends that made jokes like _that_. Honestly, _Padfoot_ would be more likely to play such a joke than Nymphadora, and that was downright creepy to think about. They just didn't know each other that well, that was all.

Or did they? He had always thought that they had both been sort of mutually reserved, that they both regarded their acquaintance purely as a byproduct of the war throwing them together. No need to say anything about it: just a fact of life. Could it be that he had misjudged things or overanalyzed things, and it was only he who was reserved? No, he didn't think so . . . .

Then was it not a joke? Was it for real? Awfully unlikely. Laughable, even. Nymphadora Tonks interested in him, the indigent werewolf? Not even worth considering.

But even if he did consider it, he figured she would have had to have shown at least a _little_ prior indication. What if, on the off-chance, she _had_ been flirting with him, and he was just oblivious? After all, back when his misfortune was still a secret, he had consistently exhibited relational dimwittedness, as his friends delighted in pointing out. But, no, he couldn't recall her acting any differently toward him than, say, toward Sirius, or even Charlie. As far as he could tell, Nymphadora was a fairly forthright person, so it would necessarily follow that any flirting would be similarly blatant.

Then again, Nymphadora was nothing if not a non sequitur on legs. There was every possibility that her candor did not carry into every department of her life. Probable, in fact.

So if, for the sake of argument, she _had_ been flirting, and he _had_ been just oblivious, then was this unwarranted gesture nothing more than a ploy to stir things up, or get the ball rolling, or smack him upside the head, or any number of other things Nymphadora seemed so adept at doing?

And the most important question of all (and those were a _lot_ of questions to trump): if this wasn't supposed to be worth considering, why was he still considering it?

And for heaven's sake, _why_ were his palms sweaty?

Gradually the groans of the old kitchen chairs as their yawning occupants staggered to their feet jostled Remus' thoughts back to reality. Remembering where he was, he swiveled to face Nymphadora, only to find that she'd disappeared.

A dull crash somewhere near the front door informed him of her whereabouts, and he sighed. Resigned to the fact that he'd have to wait at least until tomorrow to learn the truth, he downed his now-cold tea got heavily to his feet.

He would never understand the girl. He was all logic, all order, and she was anything but.

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**A/N: **Next chapter soon! It's longer! Yippee! Not!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** How is this for a fast update? Yeah, boy! And as an extra bonus, I've included a verse of encouragement a la Benjamin Franklin:

_Review after reading,  
review after reading,  
__to make Anna happy  
__and prove your good breeding!_

* * *

Chapitre Deux

The next morning, Remus sat alone at the breakfast table, staring in the direction of his toast, but not seeing anything. He was deep in thought, and he nearly fell off his chair in alarm when someone slapped him on the back with an almighty force.

"What's eatin' ya, Moony?"

Remus looked grumpily at his old friend, who began digging in the cupboard for a coffee cup. "Women," he conceded.

Sirius turned. "Women eating you? Where can I get in on the action?"

"I refuse to dignify that with a comment," he replied dryly, "and you've got it the wrong way, anyway." He got to the point. "You don't have any reason to believe that Nymphadora is interested in me, do you?"

"Why? You into her?" Sirius deliberately selected a chair, vainly attempting to conceal his eagerness.

"Not . . . so much. And I didn't thing she was, either, but last night . . ."

He trailed off, and Sirius studied him quietly.

"I mean," he started again, "it was my understanding that we were just . . . _comrades_, I guess. Thrown together by the war and whatnot, and that was all there was to it."

"People can always change over time," he suggested lightly, stirring milk into his coffee.

"She hasn't seemed to change, though; that's what's bothering me. But then last night . . ."

"And I suppose you're not going to divulge this shocking secret of what happened last night."

He hesitated.

"Come _on_, Moony," Sirius said with exasperation. "Don't be such a little girl about it!"

Rolling his eyes, Remus surrendered. "Fine. She—she grabbed my leg."

Sirius stared.

"See?" Remus exclaimed, feeling himself vindicated. "I _told_ you it was strange! I mean, why would she do that? It's so unlike her—"

"WHAT ARE YOU _TALKING_ ABOUT?" Sirius exploded. "Really, Moony? Really? You're worked up because she grabbed your _leg_?"

"Well, I—"

"For heaven's sake! You had me thinking she cornered you, or . . ."

"Sirius."

". . . snogged you out of nowhere . . ."

"Sirius."

". . . raped you . . ."

"Sirius!"

"What!"

"Quit trivializing this."

"How can I? It's trivial already."

"No it is not! You have to admit this is aberrant behavior!"

"I don't even know what aberrant means."

"Anomalous. Deviant."

". . ."

"Weird."

"Ah."

"So you admit, then, that it was an out-of-character thing for her to do."

"I don't know about 'out-of-character.' This is Tonks we're talking about."

"Okay, Padfoot. Imagine for a second if it were _you_ sitting there next to Nymphadora, and she suddenly grabs your leg out of nowhere in the middle of an Order meeting."

"Well," Sirius shifted uncomfortably, "she wouldn't to me. We're family."

Remus snorted. "You two are, what, sixth cousins eight times removed, or something? The idea is perfectly plausible."

"But it's _not_ plausible, though. She and I aren't like that with each other."

"That's precisely what I'm trying to say! I didn't think she and _I_ were like that with each other either!"

"Alright," he said grudgingly. "Point taken."

They passed a moment in thoughtful silence.

"So what's the problem again?"

Remus groaned in frustration. "For one thing, we are in the middle of a war; this is no time for a relationship. For another thing, the prospect of a relationship should be a non-issue, considering I'm twice her age and haven't a penny to my name."

Here, Sirius rolled his eyes.

"And to top all that," Remus continued, ignoring him, "for all we know, this is just as likely to be a joke as not."

"How do you figure?" Sirius asked, stealing Remus' long-abandoned toast. "I thought we just spent the last ten minutes deciding it wasn't her type of joke, with _you_ at any rate."

"My point exactly. It doesn't make any sense. On the one hand, she never has seemed interested in me, and she has not appeared, on the basis of words or actions, to have changed of this position in the last few months. You would agree?"

Sirius nodded pensively as he struggled to chew the stone-cold toast.

"On the other hand, we have just concluded that this could not be a joke, because we have determined that a joke of this nature, under these circumstances, in my position, would come off as merely awkward, not comical _per se_. Therefore, if it is not in sincerity and it is not in jest, what is it?"

Giving up on the toast and flinging it into the sink, Sirius rocked back in his chair with the air of an intrigued psychiatrist. "The problem, I think, is that you're approaching the problem way too logically, when it is a known fact that a woman would marry a man with a mullet before she touched anything having to do with logic."

Remus grinned. "You know she'd decapitate you if she heard you say that."

Sirius grinned back. "Right. _She_ would marry the man with the mullet; women in general would opt for the logic."

"Now you're up for castration."

"Psh. I can take her."

They sat a moment in comfortable silence.

"So, have we figured out the answer yet?" Remus asked hopefully.

"Not so far as I can tell. Apparently we gotta get all emotional before we find anything out."

"Well logic is all I've got, so it seems we've reached an impasse."

Suddenly, they heard the front door open, followed by a thud and a muttered curse as someone tripped over the threshold.

"As much as I was looking forward to getting weepy in the name of discovery, it looks like we could just ask the little lady ourselves."

"Now Padfoot," Remus said in a warning tone, "don't you dare do anything embarrassing."

They quit the conversation as Tonks staggered into the room under the weight of a bulging messenger bag.

"Morning, lovelies!" she said brightly, depositing the heavy bag and plopping down into the chair between them. "What's the scuttlebutt about today?"

Sirius grinned evilly at Remus. "Scuttlebutt, indeed. . . ."

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**A/N: **Hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hey sorry this took SO long to update. I hope you enjoy it. I'm fairly pleased with it, but meh. You know.

So why don't you write me a review and tell me how to perfect it! Or offer suggestions for what to include in the next chapter! This time I wrote a lyric to encourage you:

_Review Revolution_'s the name;  
review all you read is the game.  
It's oh, so polite:  
We writers delight  
in fancying flatt'ry as fame.

(Methinks I scent a pattern growing . . .)

* * *

**Chapitre Trois**

"_Morning, lovelies!" she said brightly, depositing the heavy bag and plopping down into the chair between them. "What's the scuttlebutt about today?"_

_Sirius grinned evilly at Remus. "Scuttlebutt, indeed. . . ."_

"Do tell!"

"What's in the bag, Nymphadora?" Remus asked quickly, hoping to redirect conversation in a more auspicious path.

Waving her hand dismissively, she turned her back on Remus to face Sirius, who was obviously more likely to give her information. "What's the scuttlebutt?"

Sirius smiled. "Now that I see how much you want to hear it, I might not tell you. You're really fun to tantalize."

Switching from cheery to homicidal at lightning speed, Tonks gave him a look that made the occupant of the portrait behind him cower behind his chair. "Sirius Black, my life is a cesspool of hellish boredom and monotony. I want scuttlebutt, and I will have scuttlebutt."

"K," he said meekly.

"And I want it juicy."

"K."

"Now fork it over."

He hesitated, and Remus briefly wondered if her motive in last night's stunt was merely to spice up her life, soap opera style. _Nah, Nymphadora's not the type._

I said FORK IT!"

"Er . . . you might not like this scuttlebutt as much as you think you will—"

"**SCUTTLEBUTT**!" she roared.

Under the pretense of itching his nose, Remus secretly mouthed three letters to Sirius from behind his hand. "PMS."

Sirius nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay, well, um, old Moony here was just relating a curious incident that occurred at last night's meeting."

Remus scratched the back of his neck.

Tonks blushed noticeably.

Sirius smiled. Back with the upper hand, his terror had evaporated instantly.

"Was he," Tonks commented, recovering.

"Oh, yes," he continued. "We're quite at a loss to explain it."

Silence ensued, moderately awkward for all but one of the parties involved, who was now enjoying himself quite thoroughly. Remus, on the other hand, was frantically searching for a tactful way to change the subject, but his brain seemed to be in desperate need of some WD-40. The cogs would not turn.

"Well," said Tonks finally, assuming an innocent air and picking at her fingernails, "how do you expect _me_ to explain it if you don't tell me what happened?"

Remus and Sirius looked at her, and then at each other.

Sirius decided to play along. "It seems that he was the victim of some unwanted physical contact," he said gravely.

"Unwanted physical contact!" Tonks exclaimed, as if she were gossiping about someone other than herself and the man sitting next to her.

"Actually, he never made it clear whether the contact was unwanted, but it was definitely physical."

"Ooh! The plot thickens!"

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose before resignedly getting up to put a kettle on; he guessed this discussion would not be a short one.

"So what sort of physical contact are we talking about?"

"The hand-on-leg sort."

"Hand-on-leg? That's it? Man, you had me thinking—"

"Yeah, that's what I said at first, but then we decided that it was weird, 'cause in these circumstances . . . ."

Tonks and Sirius gossiped merrily away as Remus pottered about with the tea things, conjecturing about what happened, why it happened, and what he should do about it, never once acknowledging the fact that Tonks was the reason for all this speculation in the first place. It was creepy, really. And yet, as creepy as it was, he felt distinctly left out.

He wondered for a minute whether the two of them might merely be playing a practical joke on him. Had they been conspiring to make him give away something he might have wanted to keep a secret? Remus dismissed the question instantly: he could read Sirius like a book, and Sirius had been just as clueless as he was when they were discussing the matter earlier that morning.

So if Sirius didn't know what was going on any more than he did, how was he just talking to Nymphadora as if nothing was odd at all? Was he just going stir-crazy, cooped up in this house like he was? Maybe he was so cracked from house-arrest that he was becoming like the chick in _Fight Club_, too strung out to notice that her boyfriend was schizo.

Nah. Padfoot was just an odd one by nature. He was simply having fun . . .

. . . which brought Remus back to the fact that Nymphadora was the real nonsensical one. What was she up to? What was she trying to make him do? Why couldn't he figure this out? Why couldn't she just make sense?!

If Remus wasn't sure of anything else, he knew for a fact that one doesn't put one's hand on another's knee for no reason at all. Every action has a perfectly good reason behind it. Case in point: Padfoot was playing along with Nymphadora because it was more fun than doing domestic chores. Nymphadora was wearing orange socks because orange was her third-favorite color. He, Remus, was making tea because he needed caffeine.

He was making tea?

Remus looked down at his hands in alarm and realized he was holding the kettle in one hand and a teacup in the other. How long had he been standing like this, thinking? This was ludicrous! What was she doing to him, making him forget where he was and impeding his motor skills? Skillz. Wutevz. How did she manage to totally take away his bearings with one simple touch? The injustice of it all, that anyone could have that kind of power over him! He wouldn't put up with it, dammit! He would get to the bottom of this if it were the last thing he did!

"All right, Nymphadora!" he said loudly, swiveling to face them. They jumped at his sudden outburst. "I'm tired, my head hurts, and I can't figure out what's going on."

"I'm Tonks," she said coolly, "and if you can't figure out what's going on, you should probably ask her herself, instead of just complaining to me about it."

Remus stared at her. This was getting ridiculous. Too ridiculous. Over-the-top, in a very bad way. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, thanks. How are you?"

"Nymphadora, I seriously worry about your health."

"I'm Tonks," she corrected him again. "I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you I'm quite well."

Remus awkwardly set down the teapot, which he realized was still in his hand. "Okay," he sighed, trying to figure out what to do next. "So you say I should ask her herself, instead of just complaining . . . to _you_ . . . about it . . . ." What was that supposed to mean? Was he not asking her just now?

"Yeah. Just say 'Hey you, what's the deal?' Or you two could even discuss it over dinner or something. If she grabbed your leg, she probably wouldn't mind dinner, you know."

That—was that a hint? No. No, that was not a hint. No. She did not want him to ask her out. No. No.

"Right. Nymphadora, you're really confusing me."

"I REFUSE TO BE CALLED BY THAT NAME!" she exploded. "I am _Tonks_. And I'm not being confusing at all. In fact, I think I'm being very, _very_ clear."

No, that was _not_ a hint. She was _not_ trying to get him to ask her to dinner. That was illogical. He was an indigent werewolf twice her age. Despite everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, despite the way she was looking at him right now, he would _not_ jump to that conclusion. The facts could _not_ all be there. If the facts were all there, it would no longer seem as though she really were interested in him. He simply could not believe she actually wanted him. He _would_ _not_ believe. He _would not_ go out on that limb—

"You know what?" she said angrily as he stood there thinking. She jumped to her feet and hoisted the messenger bag onto her shoulder. "I've had quite enough scuttlebutt for today. Thanks for your help Sirius, but it appears my life will continue to be a cesspool of boredom for a while longer. Maybe forever."

"Nymphadora—"

Tonks screamed in rage and swung her bag at Remus' head, knocking him to the floor and making him feel as if he had just been hit with a bowling ball. Then she bent down till their noses were almost touching and hissed dangerously, "What part of 'Tonks' don't you understand?"

Straightening up and readjusting her messenger bag, she announced that she had work to do and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When she had gone, Sirius burst into barking guffaws as Remus staggered to his feet, gingerly massaging a formidable lump on his cheekbone.

"You heard her, Moony," he cried once he had partially recovered from the laughing fit. "What part of 'Tonks' don't you understand?"

Remus looked wryly at the door she had just exited. "None of her."

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**A/N:** Eek! R&R!

btw new poll on the profile: which finger would you be least upset to part with?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Wow. I can't believe I wrote all of this INSTEAD of writing the English paper that's due tomorrow. It's an explication of John Donne's sonnet "Batter my heart, three-personed God," which I HIGHLY recommend. It's fast becoming my favorite poem evz.

If my chapters keep growing at the rate they are now, the last one will be 143,000 words or something. Anyway, R&R. And appreciate my poem, I command you! Its meter kinda reminds me of William Carlos Williams' "The Dance." ANYWAY:

"Review all you read!" my eternal disclaimer,  
"Whether you like it or whether you don't"—  
Whatever your judgment, (in jargon of gamers)  
The rivals of RevRev* shall be surely pwn't!

*RevRev is the Review Revolution. Join it!  
and poetic license authorizes me to say pwn't so get _over_ it already! :)

* * *

**Chapitre Quatre**

Remus spent the remainder of the daylight hours holding an icepack to his face and reading in the living room with Sirius, who was sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in Harry's _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Remus was re-reading _Jane Eyre_ (much to the amusement of Sirius, who denounced it as a girls' book) and trying to think as little about Nymphadora as he could. In reality, he spent a lot more time engaged in the latter pursuit than in the former. And that bothered him.

It bothered him because, as a man of literature and of self-discipline, the inability to concentrate on one of the most well-loved novels of the nineteenth century forced him to confess that he hadn't been honest with himself lately. Or really, for quite a while.

For these last few months, Remus mused, he'd done a rather exceptional job of convincing himself that his admiration for Nymphadora was completely platonic, duly merited by her good character and proficiency at her work. He had even trained himself to immediately dismiss any feeling of the distinctly non-platonic type as merely the product of her constant company and the close quarters of the Black Family residence. In fact, he thought he'd done such a thorough job of deadening himself to these feelings that even Sirius, who in all other circumstances could read him like a book, was oblivious.

And reflecting, Remus saw that he had really almost succeeded in fooling himself. He no longer squirmed when they happened to be in the same room alone, his heart hardly beat faster when she said his name, and even the dreams had almost stopped. All it had taken were a few weeks of standing in front of his bedroom mirror every night and calmly reasoning with his reflection why he _could_ not love Nymphadora.

But here he was, re-reading a sentence in a book for the ninth time because he couldn't keep his mind off her. Annoyed and embarrassed, he had to concede that he had not killed the feelings at all, only repressed them.

And now they were fighting back with a vengeance. _Great_, he thought sarcastically.

The fact that it was no longer a mind game merely depressed him. It wasn't like he was going to act on these feelings; he wouldn't ruin Nymphadora's life like that. As his fingers strayed to the huge bruise she had inflicted on his cheekbone, he briefly considered that she didn't seem to care about her life being ruined.

But he wouldn't let her bring that on herself. She would see after awhile that the short-lived happiness they might have would not be worth it. He was just going to have to continue forgoing that happiness, enticing as it was, except now without the comfort of pretending that he wasn't forgoing happiness at all. The noble idea that he could sort of indirectly love her by denying himself for her good was some consolation, _some_ being the operative word.

Remus would have continued in this gloomy train of thought for some time had his friend not interrupted him.

"You irritate me, Moony."

Remus deliberately stared at the book in his lap a second longer, pretending to be finishing a sentence, then looked up. "What?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't act like you've been reading this whole time. I've watched you stare at that same page for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes is a little sketchy, Padfoot. And how do I irritate you by sitting over here and minding my own business?"

Sirius leaned his elbows on his knees and looked over at Remus, who was sitting on the armchair next to him. "For once in my life, Moony, I'm not kidding around. Please do me the honor of taking me seriously."

Remus discarded the now-tepid icepack and passed a hand over his face, recognizing instantly that Sirius was not nearly as oblivious as he had believed. "I really don't want to talk about this right now, Padfoot," he said, avoiding Sirius' eyes.

"When do you want to talk about it, then?"

"Sirius—"

"Oh, don't 'Sirius' me. You've got to stop this. You sit there for hours thinking these absurd things 'til you don't even know what you're thinking anymore, and it turns you into this miserable little thing I don't even recognize. It's killing you, mate."

"'Killing' is a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"You're right. More like atrophy. Long, slow, and deadening."

Remus sighed. He really did not want to talk about this. "If this is about Nymphadora, you're wasting your breath."

Looking as though he wanted to strangle him, Sirius rejoined, "This is more than about Tonks, but she has a lot to do with it. If you would just—"

He was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley poking her head into the living room. "Dinner's ready," she announced. Then noticing the tension in the air, she added timidly, "if you want it."

Remus jumped to his feet in relief. "I'm starving, Molly, thanks."

Grudgingly, Sirius followed him to the kitchen. "I'm not finished with you," he muttered.

As they joined with the rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place in the overcrowded kitchen, Remus found himself seated amongst the recently arrived Hogwarts crew, while Nymphadora and Sirius sat side-by-side at the opposite end of the table. Glancing over at them, he saw that they were both glaring at him with eerily identical expressions of disgust. He turned away, discomfited, and tried to strike up conversation with Harry instead.

"Professor!" Ron interrupted with a cry of alarm. "What happened to your face?!"

Naturally the shouted question came precisely at a lull in the general conversation, so the entire table turned to inspect the massive purple protuberance on his cheekbone. Mrs. Weasley gasped, but Nymphadora began to giggle uncontrollably. Remus felt his face grow hot.

"Yeah, Professor," she mocked derisively. "What happened to your face?"

The table was waiting for an answer, but—the brain. It wasn't working. "Um," he said stupidly.

"It's like Tommy Boy, but worse!" she exclaimed.

"I . . . ." Still not working. "Um . . . ." He looked directly into Nymphadora's eyes and was struck by a sudden and malicious inspiration. "Ah, it's nothing. Ran into a doorframe like a typical _idiot_. Apparently it happens a lot to some people, but unfortunately I don't have a way to hide it when it happens to me."

Utter silence followed this obvious stab at Nymphadora's clumsiness, and her hair turned smoldering red. Remus almost quit relishing the sweetness of retribution and wondered if he had gone rather too far, but then he consoled himself that public humiliation warranted quite a bit of retribution.

"You!" she choked out, after finally regaining the faculty of speech.

"Yes, Nymphadora?" he replied coolly. Mean as the comment had been, he honestly couldn't find it in himself to be sorry. With a throbbing cheek and two friends on his case, he wasn't in the most cordial of moods.

"I can't believe you!" None of the rest of the table seemed able to believe him either, particularly the students, all of whom had idolized him, and all of whose jaws were now dropped in rictus. "And you still have the nerve to call me that name!"

Remus rolled his eyes dramatically and gloried in the immaturity of it.

Nymphadora slammed her fist down on the table.

Sirius let out a low whistle.

Everybody else stared, utterly dumbfounded.

"You take back what you said about me," she threatened.

"Maybe when this goes away," he replied, gingerly tapping the nasty lump, "I'll consider it."

"Is that really all this is about?"

"No! But the fact that it was completely unwarranted _might_ be a little provoking!"

"Completely unwarranted!" she cried, incredulous.

"I didn't stutter!" he yelled back. It had degenerated into a shouting-match. If Remus weren't seething, he would have been embarrassed. He could not understand how it was possible to love somebody and yet _hate_ them to pieces.

Nymphadora, too, was livid. She looked as though she were trying to think of a punishment that wasn't too easy for him. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, he stood up abruptly.

"You know what, Nymphadora? I don't need this," he said quietly. He glared at Sirius. "And that goes for you, too. The both of you need to get off my back and leave me the hell alone." With that he turned on his heel and stomped off toward the library.

Nymphadora jumped to her feet. "Hey! I'm not finished with you."

"Yeah, yeah, neither is Padsy," he called back without turning. "Talk to him about it." Immaturity wasn't feeling so glorious anymore.

Trailing him out of the room, she left the rest of them sitting in embarrassed silence before the untouched banquet of a meal. After a beat Sirius took a huge bite of mashed potato. "Awfully good, Molly," he said, and the rest of the table followed suit, tucking in for the most falsely cheery dinner in the history of Grimmauld Place.

Up in the library, things were not nearly so cheery, nor so false.

"Look," Remus was saying, "I'll admit you may have had _some_ reason to be upset with me this morning. But was it really enough to warrant being hit upside the head with—sorry but what exactly _did_ you hit me with?"

Tonks grimaced. "A desk and two file cabinets. I guess that was a bit much." Upon his confused expression, she explained, "I brought work home with me. Shrunk it into my messenger bag."

"Ah."

They were sitting side-by-side on the floor with their backs against the wall, tempers fully subsided.

"I guess I've just been a little frustrated for the last few months, and it was just all bottled up until today."

Remus looked at her. "What on earth could have frustrated you _that much_?"

She looked back and shook her head. "You are so incredibly _dense_ sometimes."

"Nymphadora—"

"Remus," she said with forced calmness, closing her eyes. "Don't."

Sighing in exasperation, he let his head fall heavily against the wall. "Is the name really that bad?"

"Yes!"

"Better than Mulva."

"All right, Seinfeld."

"But seriously. I'm sorry for what I said at dinner, and I'm sorry for being 'incredibly dense,' whatever that's supposed to mean; but I really can't be sorry for calling you by your name!"

Nymphadora kicked wriggled impetuously like a little girl. "You can be so _irritating_ sometimes!"

Remus looked at her askance. "It's unnerving how alike you and your cousin are. He said the same thing to me earlier."

"What about?"

"Apparently I am irritating merely because I enjoy the intellectual stimulation of contemplating profound and ponderous subjects."

Nymphadora smiled. "What he means is that you're too serious and you need to let yourself have a little fun sometimes. And he's absolutely right."

"I do have fun!" he protested. "I've even been known to be impulsive on occasion!"

She leaned closer. "Prove it," she whispered, and without warning she kissed him full on the mouth.

For two glorious seconds out of sheer surprise, he kissed her back. Then he remembered himself and everything he had resolved on that afternoon, and with icy cold regret, he pulled away and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Nymphadora," he said gruffly, avoiding her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."

He walked swiftly to the door and upon exiting, all but tripped over the youngest member of the Weasley, who had plainly been eavesdropping.

"Ginny," he said weakly.

She gazed up at him, rooted to the spot. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, then walked dejectedly to his bedroom at the end of the hall. When he had closed the door and was out of earshot, Ginny sprinted into the library.

"Tonks!" she squealed. "Tell me everything!"

Tonks grinned sheepishly. "Okay. But don't tell!"

* * *

**A/N:** Cahoots is a _great_ word. R&R!

Now wish me luck that I can finish this detested paper!


End file.
